If I Hypothetically Pushed My Destiny into Traffic
by Feather Ice
Summary: He's failing calculus, his mother has vanished again , he doesn't know WHAT the rugby team will do when they get their hands on him, and now there's a dragon that keeps prattling on about destiny. Still, today wasn't really a bad day until the biggest prat in school discovered Merlin's secret—he's got a talent for more than trouble. But really, Arthur, it's not magic! Slash.
1. It Seemed Like a Good Idea

Chapter One: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

o0o0

"Merlin, I'm beginning to think that you enjoy being in my office more than you enjoy the classroom," Gaius declared, trying, Merlin supposed, to sound strict. Mostly he just sounded amused. As well he should. It had been a glorious moment, and set off the sprinklers in eight different classrooms. The squeals of the girls alone as they were drenched in the contents of the sprinkler system in mid-December had made it all worthwhile.

But that didn't mean Gaius wouldn't punish him so Merlin smiled brightly, hands folded in his lap, eyes wide and trusting, the very picture of innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Tea?" He gestured to the freshly brewed cup sitting on the desk.

It was a tribute to Merlin's influence that Gaius responded with a heavy, earsplitting sigh, and picked up the teacup without questioning how a teacup had come to be. He brought it up and sniffed—_that's bloody well rude_, thought Merlin, mildly affronted—and raised an eyebrow. "Not poisoned, I take it?"

Merlin stared back solemnly now. "I'm hurt you'd think that of me, Gaius."

"That's Headmaster Gaius to the likes of you," grumbled the old man, heaving himself into his desk chair without taking a sip of the tea. His white curls nearly dipped into the cup, because Gaius insisted on wearing his hair long and in a fashion that had gone out of style in the Dark Ages. Something about tradition. He'd had exactly one conversation with Merlin about it and when Merlin had returned to school the next morning with a baldly gleaming head and an odd sense of shame, it hadn't recurred.

"And you have poisoned my drinks before," Gaius pointed out, giving Merlin one of those 'I see through you and just try to stop me looks' from above the teacup. And Merlin had gotten the nice china and everything. Really, that should earn him some points.

Merlin responded with a smile that had broken many a guardian down into either submission or incoherent rage. Gaius had fallen prey to neither. So far. There was still time. "Not _poisoned_—I only drugged it." Merlin realized as he was saying it that this didn't particularly sound like it was helping his case. "And it was just the once, anyway. You've laced my food loads of times…" Gaius coughed, leaning back, with a grumble as Merlin added, "…Headmaster Gaius."

Gaius took a sip of the tea at that. Merlin counted it as a victory, and grinned accordingly. "Come on. It was good, you have to admit."

"The tea?" Gaius asked sharply, which hadn't been what Merlin was referring to, but no one argued with Gaius's In Trouble voice. He hadn't used it until now. Drat. Merlin's thumbs pressed together nervously. "The aroma is quite good. You have a knack for it, I'm sure." Maybe Merlin could get out of trouble if he went and fetched Gaius some more. By hand and everything to show he was properly contrite. "But Merlin, you should not let the teapot whistle until it _screams_."

Merlin frowned, but he didn't argue. "…Right."

"People will talk," Gaius went on, setting the teacup down. "And I'm sure you don't want that."

"I don't?" Merlin asked. Gaius cleared his throat. "Oh! Right, I don't. Nope. Not at all."

"What I'm trying to tell you, Merlin, is that you're not putting your talents to good use." Gaius made a steeple of his hands and oh dear, the In Trouble face. Something about the tea, probably. He should have gone with chamomile. Damn his stupid split second decisions. "If you keep troubling the water, eventually you'll meet _consequences. _ And someday you won't find them so easy to smile your way out of. This is the _fourth time this week_. It's not only _my_ patience that has run dry."

Blast, there was no getting out of this, was there? Merlin swallowed, turning his head to eye Gaius with a nervous wince. "Er… we're not talking about tea anymore, are we…?"

Gaius's lips quirked into a smile. "No, Merlin. I'm afraid not."

Merlin got to the point quickly. "Have I been expelled, Gaius?"

Gaius regarded Merlin with wordless solemnity until Merlin was squirming in his seat and balling his sweaty hands into fists. It had been such an excellent morning too, Merlin reflected. What he would give to listen to a hall of high school students screaming their heads off again, right now. Because what he was anticipating now was his mother quite literally blowing something and then having to retire to her room with a 'headache'.

_I'm sorry_ was on the tip of Merlin's tongue.

Gaius shook his head, and Merlin felt his heart fall. "No, Merlin, you have not." Merlin's eyes closed as he sighed, banishing the thought of his mother's tears. When his eyes opened again, Gaius was staring at him rather exasperated kindness. "But that doesn't mean you won't be next time! Merlin, you're not a child anymore. It's time you start to think of—"

"Detention?" Merlin suggested, flashing another winning smile at his headmaster. "Cause that's what I'm thinking of. Dying to do, really. What'll it be—sweeping out the locker rooms? Peeling gum off the desks? Or windows, maybe?" He clapped his hands together. "I've got it—I'll make tea for all your chaps in the office and we'll call it square. How's that?"

"Not quite good enough this time." Gaius's eyes bored into him. Merlin smiled back perhaps a little too sharply and Gaius sighed once more. "…You'll spend the rest of the day cleaning up your own mess, from top to bottom. I want all the classrooms dry and tidied before the end of the day, and anything your sprinklers damaged, you repair. I trust you have no complaints?"

"What, no letters of apology to the emotionally traumatized?" Merlin muttered, peeved at the thought of so much work. It had just been a little fire and the sprinklers had done exactly what they were meant to. No one had been hurt—it was practically a testing exercise! They should be thanking him, honestly, for making sure the bloody sprinklers did as they ought. And helping Camelot's student body escape typical Tuesday monotony. Bah.

Gaius cleared his throat. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Merlin replied at once. "Not a thing, thank you. I'll get right to it." He sprung from the chair with a jaunty nod to the headmaster and made for the door. Gaius's voice stopped him just before he reached it, making Merlin's jaw tighten.

"Oh and Merlin?" Merlin waited for the rest to come without turning around. If he did, he'd start shouting, wouldn't he? And it did no good to shout at Gaius. The only thing that would get him was his ears boxed and his mother on his case. "Do try to stay out of trouble. Try to recall that if you were any other student, you _would be_ expelled."

"But I'm not any other student," Merlin muttered under his breath, annoyed that Gaius was even bringing it up. What point was there to thinking about hypothetical situations, particularly ones that were so uninteresting? It wasn't as if Merlin would ever be _normal_.

He tilted his head back, just enough so that Gaius would be sure to see his eyes flash from stormy blue to brilliant cold. A fresh cloud of steam came from the teacup as Gaius's lips pursed, no doubt biting back another reprimand. "Enjoy your tea, aye?" Merlin grinned and slipped out the door before Gaius could think of anything else to say about it.

Gaius scowled at the barrier and sighed a third time. For all that he owed and loved Hunith, that boy of hers was a terror.

Literally.

He sipped his tea. Piping hot, it was. Quite good.

0o0o

Merlin was escorted by James The Exceptionally Built Custodian since apparently menaces to society couldn't be expected to make it from point A to point B without causing collateral damage.

They were quite right about that. But it pained Merlin that they thought so little of him as to send him along with a man whose collective IQ was about six.

James opened the classroom door and grunted at Merlin in a fashion that suggested Merlin step inside like a good lad. Merlin eyed James's biceps and graciously stepped inside. He nearly slipped and fell on his backside as he did, and stopped himself by grabbing onto the nearest desk in mid-flail. The smell assaulted him then. Ugh, it was vile. A combination of sewage and what happened when Merlin didn't open the refrigerator for a few months. The result of water fermented in pipes for oh, say, a few decades.

Merlin leaned against the desk with what grace he could muster, and surveyed the drenched classroom. He turned to grin back at James. "It's mad, isn't it? Now how can they expect me to clean all this up?"

James glared at him. He'd never quite forgiven Merlin for lighting one of his eyebrows on fire. It was a pity—he tended to keep his distance from Merlin now, so his face was rather asymmetrical, with one eyebrow growing back and the other bushy and potentially flammable. Just taunting Merlin, really. Of course, James couldn't prove Merlin was the culprit or begin to comprehend how Merlin had managed it from several feet away, but being the only one to double over laughing tended to place a certain level of culpability on you.

James shoved the bucket he was carrying into Merlin's shoulder plexus with the force of a traffic accident and as Merlin doubled over (not laughing), he tossed the rag at Merlin's head. It landed in his hair and Merlin tipped over with a groan, landing hard on his backside as bucket water splashed over his face. Merlin sat up slowly and spat out the cleaning water. James was already gone. Sodding bastard. Merlin spat again for good measure. Soapy.

Grumbling to himself, Merlin shuffled back to the classroom door and slammed it shut. A whisper rolled off his tongue to make the lock click shut—no sense in letting the man peek in on Merlin's slave labor—and Merlin looked across the room again. It was a lot less amusing now that he had to deal with the prospect of cleaning it. He rolled up his sleeves, shaking his head and muttering before retrieving the cleaning rag from the floor. He eyed it askance. It looked sort of furry. Cleaning rags were not meant to look furry.

Oh, to hell with it all. Classrooms didn't have security cameras.

Merlin's eyes lit up with brilliant gold and he spun around to point with both his finger and his will. "Espretium!"

Seven classroom doors swung closed, and a tilt of Merlin's wrist locked them in symphonic harmony. Merlin grinned and turned to the windows, swiping his hand through the air.

"Abrilena esti gnera!"

Gold flashed and the windows banged open in all eight classrooms, letting a blast of winter air race through the rooms, sending droplets of foul water spraying off the desks and Merlin's hair flying in every direction. He grinned into the cold bite of the air, almost laughing. Saving the best for last, Merlin sucked in a big breath of air. To hell with the incantation. His eyes shined like a dragon's hoard as he blew out gently and every drop of moisture from the classrooms (and the forgotten bucket lying forlornly on the ground) rose obediently into the air and followed his breath, winding out the windows in a shining stream to join the clouds. Merlin did laugh then, watching the water glide by him and reaching out his fingers to run them through the liquid as it passed.

Mistake. It smelled bloody toxic. Merlin could only laugh harder, falling back onto the newly dried floor on his newly dried backside as the last of the water vanished. Wind whistled through the open windows again, inspecting Merlin's work. Merlin's heart hammered with delight. By God, nothing could top the rush of magic.

Another whispered incantation and a flick of his fingers sent the rag flying, darting this way and that, frantically polishing the room from top to bottom and assisting the wind in carrying away the awful smell. Merlin left it to its task, waving his hand to send it through the windows to the next room to clean as he hopped onto the teacher's desk to inspect the TV and see what needed fixing.

By lunchtime, Merlin was walking through the classrooms one last time to make sure it was in order—the windows were shut, the entire place gleamed with good old fashioned magical elbow grease, the bucket was nestled at the top of a TV set where it would prove the most difficult to retrieve—and smirked, pleased with himself. Going home early and taking a nice long nap sounded like a good plan. He could grab a bite to eat on his way home even, and maybe swing through the woods for a walk if he felt up to it.

It had turned out to be a good morning after all.

"Oi."

Merlin recoiled, realizing he'd been staring with paternal fondness at a poster of math problems on the wall. _God_, no. He turned to see who had called out and there was a boy staring at him from outside the door. Merlin identified him as none other than the King of the Prats himself and scowled automatically. If ever there was a bloke who needed the stick removed from his arse, it was Arthur Pendragon. He could use a matching set of black eyes and broken teeth to go along with that new, stick-less outlook on life.

"Lose something?" Merlin called over to him in the most neutral tones he could manage. _Like your brain? Oh, you seem to function just fine without that. My mistake._

"What are you doing in here?" King Prat demanded, as if it was his God given right to be told Merlin's business the one percent of the time that wasn't spend ignoring his existence or kicking him around alongside the brave and true knights of the holy Prat Kingdom. Merlin rolled his eyes and turned to face King Prat with a sneer.

"You tell me." King Prat's blue eyes darkened. It was like Gaius's In Trouble look, only with Arthur it made Merlin want to punch him in the nose. God, he was a prat. Prat, prat, prat.

King Prat's voice boomed with the magnificent authority that had earned him his nickname in the first place. It made Merlin flinch a bit. "I'm asking you DID YOU SEE ANYTHING?!"

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. "What, you snogging some girl in the hall just now? There's no need to shout." He walked over to the door, meeting King Prat's blazing eyes every step of the way. "I really don't care what the hell you do. Prat."

Naturally, King Prat shoved Merlin into the doorframe, knocking the wind out of him for a moment before Merlin snapped his head back up and smiled. What was a bruise or two from this lot? Merlin could have them all laid flat with a blink of his eye. He just chose not to. But goodness did King Prat test his patience **every** **goddamn day of his life**.

King Prat had yet to remove his hand from the center of Merlin's chest and after a second Merlin's eyes darted down to it and saw that aside from trying to break his ribs, it also contained a scrap of cloth.

A… sort of fuzzy… scrap of cloth.

Merlin's eyes darted swiftly back up to Arthur's, smile fading into guilt and burgeoning panic—_did I check to see if the classrooms were empty before I locked the doors, could he have been, oh God, why does he have that, __**what did he see**_—and his blood turned to ice cubes in his veins, clogging, painful, and bitterly cold. King Prat—no, hell, ANYONE but him—smiled with vindictive interest, pulling his hand back and letting the cleaning rag drop between their feet.

"What's your name again?" He asked.

So of course Merlin shoved him hard and ran away like his life depended on it.

0o0o

A/N: I intend to actually finish this story. I think I can maintain the voice and all, so tell me what you folks think. Because the voice may be complete and utter shit. I'll try to improve on it. Then again, we know my track record. You all can just laugh indulgently at me if you like.

For the Reborn fans, yes, I am still trying to update the blasted things. There's a wee bit of hope left.


	2. Never Listen to Authority Figures

**Chapter Two: Never Listen to Authority Figures, No Matter How Many Teeth They Have**

Merlin hovered about seven feet in the air above seething magma, cross-legged, and scowling. "I'm glad you think this is funny," he said. When this failed to elicit anything but another peal of laughter, he added, "You great, poncy newt."

"Apologies, young Merlin," snickered the dragon momentarily. "Please. Once more. Explain to me once more your encounter with the young Pendragon."

Merlin heaved a bone-weary sigh and for the third time said, "He pushed me into a wall—"

"No, no," the dragon interrupted. "From the beginning. The beginning is the best part."

Merlin's scowl edged towards a glare. "He caught me doing magic _and then_ pushed me into a wall." The dragon shook with laughter again, but through Herculean effort, managed to contain it. "So I ran away."

"And then?" The dragon prompted, giving Merlin a stern look. That look had enough teeth that Merlin grudgingly admitted,

"He was chasing after me, so I **accidentally** hit him in the face with a door. And broke his nose."

The dragon fell off of its perch with another explosion of laughter, splashing up magma like the world's largest scaly toddler. Merlin sent up a shield quickly because dream or not, he didn't want to find out what his subconscious believed frying in molten rock would feel like. "Are you done yet?" He called.

The dragon seemed content to lie in its lava bath and giggle. Merlin sighed, running a frantic hand through his hair. So far Kilgharrah had been about as much help as a kick in the shins. And for that matter, at least physical violence didn't get sarcastic. Here Merlin was, worried that any second now he was going to get dragged out of bed and murdered by His Royal Majesty King Prat (in a nose splint), and his sidekick was getting his jollies having a laugh at Merlin's expense.

Honestly, most young heroes got a magical sword or a talking dog or something. Merlin got an imaginary talking dragon.

Kilgharrah paused to breathe, and because this was a dream, he was appraised of Merlin's thoughts. "And what makes you think you're the hero of this story?" He asked, in that eerily serious way that never failed to set Merlin's teeth on edge.

"I'd damn well better be," Merlin grumbled, glaring defensively at the dragon's narrowed eyes. "I've got enough power to destroy the world and absolutely no desire to do it." Well, except for that one time when he was six. But that wasn't up for discussion. "It's not as though anyone else is raring for the job."

Kilgharrah blew out a cloud of smoke and smirked. He didn't say anything. He seemed content to just smile and watch Merlin grow less and less comfortable. Silence and dragons together never boded well. "What?" Merlin finally asked.

Kilgharrah folded his claws in front of him, the action eerily humanlike. "I am simply wondering if coming events will make you change your mind, young Merlin."

"Oh, not this again," Merlin groaned, throwing his hands up. "Can we focus on the crisis at hand? Please? We both know you're never going to tell me whatever it is you _claim_ to know, so enough with the happy enigmatic bullshit!" Kilgharrah raised a scaly eyebrow—how did dragons even have eyebrows?—as Merlin pointed a finger at him. "I only want to know how to deal with Arthur Pendragon. That's it. Hang sacred destiny."

Kilgharrah gave Merlin another long, narrow-eyed look for just long enough to remind him that Kilgharrah was considerably larger, older, and more lethal than a human adolescent. "Please," Merlin ground out, lowering his hand. He raised his eyebrows hopefully. "…You know it's important."

"Very well," Kilgharrah conceded with a nod of its head. "I will grant you this. What do you have in mind?"

Merlin sighed in relief, his levitation spell dipping several inches towards the lava. "I've thought about it already," he told Kilgharrah. Which was true. He'd thought about it a lot after King Prat's impressive list of death threats had faded into the distance. Clearly, Arthur wanted to kill him, but that was only runner up in the list of things pushing Merlin toward a nervous breakdown. First and foremost, Merlin needed Arthur to keep his mouth shut about floating cleaning rags. There were very few honorable ways of accomplishing said silence after you've broken someone's nose. Particularly when that someone was so attached to his face that he'd gladly raze entire third world countries to keep it intact.

Merlin eyed the dragon, who was now swishing his tail back and forth through the magma impatiently. "I need a memory spell," Merlin announced.

"I see," said the dragon. "Do you know how long it takes to master memory spells?"

"Probably not, since I'm asking you, yeah?" Merlin smiled up winningly.

"With your power," the dragon replied rather gently, "Unless you want to give everyone in a three-mile radius fugue amnesia, it's best not to trifle with those spells."

Merlin pressed his lips together. "…Ah." Kilgharrah blew out another cloud of smoke and Merlin winced a bit as he suggested, "Mind control spells?"

"_Merlin_."

"Come on! I'll only ever use it on Arthur! He's such a prat that I'm sure everyone will thank me!"

"_Merlin_."

"Fine, but you can't say I didn't try," Merlin huffed, crossing his arms as the dragon stared him down. He stewed in silence for a moment and then groaned, hanging his head. "…Seems I've got no choice."

"Yes," Kilgharrah answered. He was obviously enjoying it too, the git. He leaned closer to Merlin and informed him jovially, "You will actually have to go talk with the young Pendragon—and persuade him to keep your secret."

Merlin looked up at once, eyebrows rising until his forehead ached. "_Talk_ to him? Where did you pull that one from? He'll crack my head open like a rotten tomato." Oh, _ick_, poor image choice there. Merlin grimaced. Kilgharrah retreated, looking puzzled as Merlin rubbed his shaking hands together.

"Then I am at a loss as to what you plan to do." Kilgharrah informed Merlin with a tilt of its head, "I do not believe this setback will remove itself. The young Pendragon is no fool."

"I know," Merlin mumbled. "I had something a bit more… permanent in mind." He risked a glance up at Kilgharrah. The dragon returned it with an exceptionally blank look. Merlin fidgeted. "You know… prevent him from inflicting his stupidity on anyone?"

Kilgharrah's nostrils flared. Merlin was all braced for a spectacular round of let's-shatter-our-dream-eardums, but instead the dragon questioned, "You… intend to make the young Pendragon stupid?"

"Oh no, I think he does a fine job of that all on his own," Merlin replied with a straight face. "I couldn't improve on it. Really. His stupidity is a masterpiece, the likes of which I dare not trifle with. It would be a travesty to—"

"Merlin." And there it was! The Shut Up, Merlin voice. Honestly, it seemed like everyone Merlin knew had exactly three speeds: the normal one, the In Trouble one, and the Stop Talking Now, Before I Gut You like a Trout one.

Really, he spent his time with the most impatient people. It's not as though their behavior was a reflection of _Merlin's_ decision-making capabilities. It wasn't his fault that so much of the world was breakable or flammable.

Merlin attempted a grin, which came out horribly mangled. He'd stuffed his hands into his lap to hide the fact that they were shaking like an epileptic's. "I'm going to kill him?"

Hell. That wasn't meant to be a question.

Kilgharrah reared back, eyes flashing—_ohh_, that wasn't a good sign—and growled. "**Absolutely** **not**. That course of action shall not come to pass."

Merlin winced a bit, but forged ahead bravely. "Well… apparently it shall!" Kilgharrah's nostrils were starting to churn out smoke like a furnace. _Also not a good sign_. "We both know I've got the power to do it. The druids—" Oh wait, that was actually a good point. Merlin brightened. "The druids say all the time that I've got the power of a god! What's to say I can't choose who lives and dies like one?" Little sparks of flame were springing from between the dragon's teeth. Merlin babbled quickly, "Only just the once, of course. And honestly, when you think about it, it's Arthur! Considering the supreme ass that he is, no one should miss him very much. This is practically a public service—"

Kilgharrah cut Merlin off with a snarl. Merlin's mouth froze around the word 'service' and his eyes widened with very, very healthy fear. This was a dream—yeah—try telling that to _Kilgharrah_.

"Heed my words," the dragon hissed. "Pursue another course of action. I will NOT allow this folly."

_But you're a dream_.

Merlin swallowed hard and rose to his feet. Kilgharrah let out a long, low growl as he did, which rumbled through the air in a blanket of smoke. "And if I say no?" Merlin asked quietly. "What are you planning to do?" He spread his arms wide. "You're a figment of my imagination—you can't stop me."

Kilgharrah snarled again, the harsh sound echoing through the cavern like a laugh. "Do not test me, **warlock**."

The fear and defiance in Merlin's gut abruptly boiled into temper. "Nah, you're right," Merlin snapped through gritted teeth. "What's the point? You're like everyone else. Always telling me what I CAN'T do, because I must be restrained—because no one ever bothers to trust _me_!" Kilgharrah stiffened at his shout, but Merlin couldn't read the dragon's reaction and he was too angry to stop. "Don't you get it?! If Arthur runs his mouth—at best, I'm allowed the choice to die—otherwise I'll be someone's experiment or some mindless weapon or—or something I can't even _imagine_!"

Kilgharrah's brow knitted together. "Merlin—"

"Well, I won't let that happen!" Merlin's voice rang out shrill and terrified—scared of so much more than the dragon in his head. "I won't let Arthur-bloody-prat-Pendragon wreck everything I've worked to have because of _one stupid mistake_! I don't care if it dirties my hands or offends you or anyone else! I have _NO_ CHOICE!"

Kilgharrah roared loud enough to make Merlin gasp and clap his hands over his ears. Ah, there it was; dragon vocal chords vs. human eardrums take twelve. As Merlin's knees dumped him back on the ground out of pure shock, the dragon's wings flared out and extending the entire width of the cavern—like a cloak.

Like a red cloak.

"Enough," Merlin snarled wearily. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Time to wake up."

Kilgharrah howled and a glut of flame billowed forth, but it was nowhere near fast enough. The dream crumbled. When Merlin cracked an eye open again, he was staring at the sitting room ceiling and his back was protesting the decision to camp out on the floor. His ears were also ringing. Dreams with Kilgharrah always managed to carry over a bit.

"Sodding newt," Merlin muttered venomously, dragging a hand over his eyes. Hell. He was covered in sweat too, from either the scorching cavern he imagined Kilgharrah in or the suffocating terror. Take your pick. He wiped his hand on his pants and sat up.

Mountains of trash stretched as far as the eye could see. A month's worth of food containers, dirty clothes, miscellaneous plastic scraps, the occasional cutlery, all with books and papers scattered above like newly fallen snow.

The smell was best left without description.

_Shower_, Merlin decided. _Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Murder._

It was best to keep things like this simple.

Merlin got to his feet and tripped spectacularly over a cushion buried beneath discarded trousers. He managed to dent his head on the one bit of the coffee table that wasn't buried under a mountain of laundry.

Merlin writhed around in agony for a bit while thinking glumly, _I'm not going to like today, am I?_

0o0o0

Forty-odd minutes later Merlin was clean, wearing something odorless from the wardrobe on the floor, and had determined that there was nothing edible left in the flat. Four rejected spell books were piled to his right—lots of preaching about staying away from foul dark magicks and their corrupting influence. The one on his lap had opened up to an enchantment that melted people's eyeballs.

Seemed promising. Could even improve King Prat's ugly mug, potentially. Give him some color.

And now he was thinking of tomatoes OH GOD get off that train of thought _rightnow_.

Shuddering, Merlin flipped to the index. _Heading: hexes, subheading—ah, there we are. Death curses, page 254_. Merlin was greeted with a tasteful depiction of a grinning skull that appeared to be… devouring entrails.

Huh.

He squinted at the text, which was spidery and largely unintelligible in accordance with the laws of magical wanking_. Let's see… Lombardini Death Plague? Hm… Ingredients look nice and easy to come by. Makes the victim break out in large painful boils before death—_nice_… But no; it promises a slow death. King Prat would be able to talk, even if he was dying. The bloke loves the sound of his own voice too much._

Merlin took one look at the Elypsiac Curse's ingredients list and turned the page. He didn't happen to have the finger bones of any infants handy and absolutely no desire to procure any. Ever.

Merlin rejected the Mergian Scirses Hex too. Tempting though it may have been to watch Arthur be skewered by every metal object in the vicinity, Merlin ought to try for something with a bit more subtlety. There needed to be at least one **other** explanation for Arthur's imminent demise than vengeful hexing.

_This is a pain in the arse_, Merlin observed as he skimmed the next few pages. _The next spell I learn is going to be one that instantly locates the spell I want to use—_

He paused at Gelstrepis Emoxius and after a moment, he raised his eyebrows. No ingredients necessary aside from optional accessories to improve one's aim (Merlin's aim was a marvel from God, thanks very much). Only needed thirty minutes to take effect—_not bad_—was excruciatingly painful—_excellent_—and was as subtle as a heart attack. Literally. The heart might explode in rare cases, but bugger that, the spell was _perfect_.

Merlin stood, beaming at the page. "Oh yes," he announced to his captive audience of dirty socks. "This will do **nicely**."

0o0o0

It was first period. And Merlin was sitting up straight, not using his textbook for a pillow, and not making Professor Bayard's goatee dance for his amusement. He had a rather sweaty piece of paper clenched in one hand (in case he somehow managed to forget the incantation when he was faced with the overwhelming stench of prat), and a death grip on the pen in his other.

The professor took fifteen minutes to address the cause of this. "Absent," he declared.

"_WHY!?"_

Let's review: not only did Merlin jump out of his seat and loudly demand Arthur's whereabouts; he'd synchronized with the very shrill Vivian, who was now staring at him like gum she'd peeled off of the bottom of her shoe. The rest of the class joined her. That was just what Merlin needed—parallels to be drawn between him and the captain of the Arthur Pendragon Shagging Club.

If there were such a club, anyway Merlin was quite sure that Vivian would be president.

He mustered up an eyes roll and coughed. "I had—er—homework. To give him. From. Class."

He sat down quickly as the giggling began.

"Mr. Pendragon," Professor Bayard warbled, "Has been hospitalized. It seems that he was assaulted."

_He_ was assaulted? Please. Merlin was honestly surprised that the door hadn't taken initiative to tackle Arthur's face all on its own, without magic. He had it coming.

Vivian swooned. "Who could have done such a thing?" Merlin tried not to snort too loudly.

It was at this point that Professor Bayard's words caught up with him.

"Professor!" Merlin jumped to his feet again. _Hell!_ "Er. Do you know what hospital it is?" Professor Bayard blinked. "…For the homework."

"That's confidential information."

Merlin sat down. More giggling.

He was friends with the school headmaster; confidentiality was nothing but a joke.

But all of first period thinking that Merlin was gay for the King of the Prats? His life was _over_. Merlin buried his head in his arms with a groan.

A/N: OK, I got some jitters last week, wrote utter shyte (ye gods), and well… The belated chapter two! In a less horrendous incarnation. I've also just finished watching the end of Season 4 of Merlin, so I'm going to dedicate this chapter to the sincere hope that Season 5 does not turn out to be a Game of Thrones rip-off. Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know if you see room for improvement or if you think I'm on the right track. I promise you all lots of Arthur in the next chapter.


	3. I Did NOT Bloody Faint!

**Warnings**: Merlin's disposition, swear words, attempted murder, cross dragons, and lamp abuse. Eventual slash.

**Chapter Three: Let the Record State He Did NOT Bloody Faint**

To make a long story short, Merlin was not one for flying spells.

Let's be honest: the universe at least owed him a private jet or a suitably plus-sized winged beast by now, with all that 'Chosen by the Land' muck. But so far Kilgharrah hadn't been keen on the idea of existing just to ferry Merlin about (and the unsettling tendency of Merlin's imaginary dragon to become suspiciously realistic was rather the point of all this anyway) and Merlin had to get around _somehow_, so there you were. Flying spells.

May they all die a most fiery death.

Merlin, hovering above a nondescript tree in the middle of a nondescript forest, with little idea about how to get down (let alone get moving again), checked his watch and swore.

Since King Prat had made himself wretchedly scarce (and Merlin's last attempt to sneak into the filing office had resulted in a two-hour repentant conversation with a dour Gaius—not for the faint of heart), it was currently three in the morning. Tracking spells were about as time-efficient as using an abacus. At this rate, by the time Merlin bloody got this murder over with, he'd get no sleep tonight either. He suspected his biology marks would reflect that.

Resulting, of course, in another two-hour session of remonstrance with Gaius. Damn it to hell.

Why did King Prat have traipsing about in the middle of a sodding _woods, _anyway? Couldn't he just have a cozy flat in time? Or a convenient heart condition? For that matter, why couldn't Merlin have night vision, allowing him to traipse through the woods after prats, without sleepily tripping over things in the dark and killing himself?

"Perhaps," Merlin muttered aloud, drawing his jacket tighter around him as the bollocksing wind made his teeth chatter. "This is fate's way of telling me I shan't get away with this."

Naturally, this was when his flying spell abruptly remembered its purpose. The young warlock catapulted into the sky, train of thought quite forgotten.

And then he found why King Prat was in the woods at three o'clock in the morning.

"Typical," Merlin snarled. He was earthbound—brushing leaves out of his hair after the, ahem, _interesting_ means of landing he'd, er, attempted—and staring upwards with the sort of expression one got when one realizes the word is a cold, lonely place where small children starve, human beings suffer, and the real tossers get to live in palaces, laughing at the plebians.

It had a moat. That was what really brought the injustice home.

King Prat Arthur Pendragon was on the third floor of, if not a castle, a passing imitation of one. Merlin, warlock extraordinaire was really trespassing with the intention of putting an end to all Kind Prat's pissantry.

"This is ridiculous," the warlock extraordinaire decided. The universe provided silent, sheepish agreement.

Well, Merlin had learned his lesson. The next time he tidied up after a sprinkler system, a sleeping spell would go over the school building first.

Merlin was good with sleeping spells. He honestly didn't know how good he was with murder spells. He might be completely rubbish. Perhaps he would embarrass himself and all this curse would do was give King Prat a sore toe.

Merlin shuffled his feet a bit, and told himself firmly that this option was not appealing. Mediocrity was never a good thing. Unless, of course, he'd been told to do something by someone else. Then it was necessity.

And now Merlin was going to stop thinking and get a move on. He had a test.

(In a class he paid no mind to.)

A test!

Merlin hunched his shoulders in case the wind had another go at him, and stepped into the moat. Merlin glided across the moat's inky surface hastily and once he was underneath the right window, Merlin's eyes bloomed over with light.

He coasted upwards like a bit of dust caught on an air current; reaching out to grab the prat's windowsill was a simple matter. There was a lock in his way. A twist of Merlin's fingers would be sufficient to make it unlock, to open the window wide enough for a skinny boy to wind his way inside. And then—

_Bloody get on with it._

Shuddering (with the cold), Merlin opened the window and pushed the curtains aside. The soft material whispered across his skin like welcoming hands. Gentle. The warlock landed with a muffled clump on a carpet that felt deep enough to drown in, curtains fluttering at his back, and stared into the gloom.

It was unreasonably large for a bedroom (typical), but it did have a bed—which could have fit four people. Merlin scowled around the room, looking for Arthur. He saw trophies, posters stretched over the walls, flowers in a vase (which Merlin immediately knew had bugger all to do with Arthur) rugby equipment, an errant football. It was meticulously clean, but the belongings were strewn about in cluttered angles, like they were plotting rebellion. There was a certain, distinct smell that made Merlin instinctively decree, _prat._

When he kicked it, would this room smell like anything at all?

From the _sofa_ (really now; a sofa in a bedroom?) there came a rustling sound as a figure shuffled about under his covers—Arthur. Merlin froze in place. The prat turned his back to the window and burrowed under the sheets, grumbling another sleepy noise. Merlin's shaking hands balled into fists. The curtains billowed against his neck, ushering him forward.

_I don't have to get any closer_, Merlin thought desperately. _I can do it from here. Just have to speak the words—_

But his feet carried him until he was standing close enough to feel Arthur's warmth. Close enough to hear the steady, soft breathing.

In the corner of a room a vase began to rattle—Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. This was not the ideal moment for his subconscious to get chatty. _None of that_, he told himself firmly._ Don't you understand what you'll lose if you don't keep Arthur quiet?_

'_Course. A mum who's never home. Kindly Druids who expect me to save the world once I finish exams. My only friend is a dragon that I __**made up**__—_

Merlin glared viciously until the rugby ball rolling across the floor stopped moving. _You've killed before_, Merlin reminded himself, ignoring the way his chest tightened. _One person in the ground. _What's done once could be done again. Simple stuff.

_I didn't want to kill before. And I don't want to kill now.  
_

A picture frame to his left began to pirouette. Merlin refused to gratify its childish antics with a response.

The incantation was stuck in his throat like his mum's idea of a casserole, and another voice was pointing out, _It's entirely your choice whether this bloke lives or not. Doesn't he deserve it? He's just a bully. Just some rich, entitled _brat_, and if anyone's ever deserved it, he does.  
_

_Tell the truth. Haven't you always hated Arth—no. Hated __**King**__** Prat**__?_

Merlin's lips parted.

And then three things happened at once, very fast.

The first was that Merlin saw a lamp's power cord dangling in front of his nose and thought, _I didn't do that._

The second was that he heard a very loud crack and without further warning, pain radiated from the back of his skull.

And the third was that the figure dozing on the sofa jolted awake and let out a high-pitched, unmistakably _feminine_ scream.

Merlin was unconscious before he hit the ground. When his vision deigned to return, it was full of exceedingly toothy smiles.

0o0o0

"_Hell_," he managed. His head felt like one big bruise. Kilgharrah's amused visage was moving about more than it ought to have done. "I'm asleep?"

"Unconscious, it seems." Kilgharah's grin widened. "It's good to see you, young warlock."

The feeling was very much _not_ mutual.

Merlin groaned, and tried to lever himself into an upright position. It was more difficult than it should have been—and where was the lava? Why was he sitting on one of Kilgharrah's talons? Considering the way that they'd last parted, Merlin felt uncomfortable about this.

"Er," said Merlin.

"So you failed to kill the young Pendragon," Kilgharrah observed.

This earned Kilgharrah a dirty look. "Can't you just light me on fire?"

"The very thought," Kilgharrah replied breezily, as if he had conveniently forgotten the death threats. Merlin was not greatly reassured. For one thing, Kilgharrah looked smug beyond belief, and Merlin did not foresee anything that made Kilgharrah look that pleased ending well for him.

Merlin hazarded a guess, "You're not going to lecture me on the sanctity of life again, are you?"

This time the dragon chuckled, shaking the cavern walls. "Oh goodness no," Kilgharrah replied. "But I **am** going to take advantage of the fact that, having been knocked unconscious, you aren't going to be able to wake yourself up."

0o0o0

While Merlin discovered the consequences of making dragons cross with you, Arthur Pendragon was standing on his bedroom floor, eying the unconscious boy flopped on his carpet, and adjusting his grip on the lamp he'd grabbed from the bedside table. "Morgana?" He called, not taking his eyes off of his foe. "Are you alright?"

Morgana replied in the calm, collected way that made Arthur respect her so much.

"What in the bloody hell was that?!"

_What indeed_, thought Arthur. He hadn't gotten a good look until Morgana had turned the lights on, but there was no mistaking that face. _Or those ears_. "I think he climbed through the window," he declared.

Arthur suddenly found Morgana attached to his arm. "Is he dead?" She asked in a hushed whisper, resolutely refusing to be pried off.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course he's not dead—I hit him with a lamp. All he's done is fainted."

Morgana's expression asserted that she did not appreciate Arthur's tone; she proceeded to stomp on his foot. All while clutching Arthur's bicep in a death grip. "We should call the police."

"No," Arthur replied, looking down at the intruder again. He'd managed to assume the extremely awkward pose of fresh roadkill before he fell. "No, I… know him."

Morgana's nose wrinkled. "A friend of yours?"

"No," Arthur replied, deciding that Cleaning Rag Boy was really too pathetic to merit the continued brandishing of the lamp. He tossed it on his bed. "He's the one that broke my nose."

"_What?!"_

Arthur didn't like just leaving him on the carpet. Perhaps he could just push him back out the window.

"_You told Father it was a rugby accident!"_

"And neither of you believed me," Arthur replied, prodding Cleaning Rag Boy with his foot.

"_We should definitely call the police!"_

"We're not calling the police," Arthur sighed. "I refuse to call the police. I barely touched him and he **fainted**. He's pathetic."

Morgana wrung her hands at him. "_Well—"_ She froze, eyes widening like alarmed teacup saucers.

At their feet, Cleaning Rag Boy made a small noise of dismay, and his eyes cracked open. As his gaze made its way up from their ankles, Arthur raised an eyebrow. Morgana just looked petrified.

And Merlin wheezed, "I did NOT bloody faint."

**A/N:** Oh yeah. Lookit. You know how you all were mad at me for promising chapters and then failing to deliver? Let the record state that I, Feather Ice, have for the first time taken my writer's block, shoved my foot up its...

Yeah, never mind. Anyway. Look, chapter three! It had many incarnations, all of which sucked beyond belief. It is my earnest wish that this is of sufficiently not-horrific caliber that you do not wish to stone me and instead would like to encourage me to write more. However, if you think it's a lost cause, it's good to tell me that too. All critiques go towards the ultimate vanquishing of foul procrastination trolls. To make a long story short: hope you liked it! See ya later.


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